Join or Die: Forgiveness
by Dylann K. Reed
Summary: Just the scene in Season 3 episode 13. On the shore, waiting for Luna's people to see their signal fire, Bellamy and Clarke wave a little conversation. I didn't change anything from the scene, I just get the feels for this moment on the 100 everytime, so I wrote it down. (Hinting Bellarke one-shot)


Clarke walked along the shore and away from the green signal fire, towards Bellamy. The sun had gone down, and still, Bellamy remained tense. Clarke knew he only meant to protect Octavia, as always. Unfortunately, Octavia often didn't see the means behind Bellamy's actions... or she disagreed with them. Either way, Clarke hoped to ease his irritation.

As Clarke came to only a few feet away, Bellamy glances over, arms still folded. He looked back at the ocean before speaking.

"Let me guess, you came here to fix things," Bellamy gave a wry smile, "Wanheda, the Peacemaker." Clarke showed no reaction, pausing before she dismissed the comment. She just studies the familiar face of her co-leader. Various scars and bloody scratches cover his face, accompanied by the dirt that no one ever seemed to be completely clean of. His hair has gotten long, and the tips of his inky black hair sit over his eyebrow, nearly covering his eyes.

"I came to see if you were okay," Clarke's gentle voice was a stark contrast to Bellamy's as he cut her off.

"Well, I don't need your help," only after he finished saying it does he look at her. When he does, his face is void of emotion, but his eyes are wary. Clarke just nods before turning to face the ocean. As she does, Bellamy leans back, to peer at his sister. Octavia still busy dumping branches into the crackling, green bonfire.

"Clarke," Bellamy's voice is rough, his words almost caught in his throat, "I've lost her." This time he can't keep a stoic expression. A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth and his eyes are watery.

"Giver her time, Bellamy. There may be blood on your hands, but it's not Lincoln's." Her tone is earnest, full of conviction. But Bellamy's head is already shaking, pushing away her statement.

"Some of it is," he tells her.

"Maybe," he is surprised by her agreement but she continues before he can respond, "but you didn't want that to happen. You tried to stop it. Octavia will forgive you eventually." Now Bellamy avoided looking at Clarke, looking anywhere but.

"The question is," Clarke charged on, "will you forgive yourself?"

He's crying now, no longer just teary-eyed. He's still looking towards Octavia when he tells Clarke, "Forgiveness is hard for us."

Bellamy tells Clarke this because he knows she gets it, gets him. Clarke doesn't say anything but for a moment the two consider previous conversations on forgiveness. Clarke forgiving a broken Bellamy after murdering Dex, not just for Dex but for everything. Everything and anything that Bellamy couldn't forgive himself of. Or months later, when Bellamy does the same for Clarke after she pulls the lever at Mount Weather.

Bellamy breaks their thoughts, "I was so angry at you for leaving." Clarke's immediate reaction is a sharp intake of air. She doesn't defend herself. SHe deserves worse than Bellamy has given her for leaving him. Leaving him for Polis and leaving him after Mount Weather. "I don't want to feel that way anymore." She's relieved. The evidence clear on her face.

"You know, you're not the only one trying to forgive yourself," This is Clarke's apology and Bellamy nods, clenching his jaw.

"Maybe we'll get that someday," Bellamy ducks his head and wipes the tear tracks from his cheek with his sleeve, "But we need each other, Bellamy. What we're doing now, the only way we're gonna pull this off is together." After that, Clarke hugs him. Her embrace is tight, and she stands on the tips of her feet. Bellamy's arms are even tighter, his nose in her braid, and a few more tears threaten to spill over.

Neither of them notices the people coming up out of the water until both Bellamy and Clarke are seized. A cross-bow is pointed at both their foreheads.


End file.
